


Hyde Park

by pintsized



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Army of Ghosts, Doomsday, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-21 06:00:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pintsized/pseuds/pintsized
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After watching the London Olympics in 2012, the Doctor and Rose come across a monument, a memorial of something called the "Battle of Canary Wharf"? How odd...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

_**23:09, 9th August 2012  
Hyde Park, London, England, Sol III** _

“Did you see that Irish boxer go? Man, that girl can pack a punch. I counted at least four teeth on the floor. Mind you, these events are nowhere near as violent as they used to be! Back in the day, there was a brilliant event called the ‘pankration’, this barmy mix of wrestling and boxing. The match went on until one of the guys surrendered. And then of course there was the whole chariot racing fiasco, and don’t even get me started on . . .”

“A bit late for that,” I mutter bemusedly. 

We’re walking through the criss-crossing pathways of Hyde Park, beneath inky skies blooming with fireworks. There’s hardly anyone around at this time of night, just the occasional couple snogging on a bench or tribe of shrieking youths. 

With anyone else, I’d be scared to walk through here at night. Not with the Doctor though. There’s something about the warmth of his fingers in mine, his inexorable and brilliant chatterings, his very presence, that makes me calm. No, more than calm; just being with him makes me _happy_. Happier than I ever was, ever could have been before all this. It seems a million years ago that I was there, a life of Mum and chips and buses and Mickey. Then the Doctor came along. And look at me now. Look what I’ve _become_. Are you watching me, Dad? Can you see me now?

“. . . and then he was like, ‘Oi, that’s my horse’, trying to steal Arthur just so he could win the chariot race and I was like ‘Get your own royal horse from the 18th Century courts of Versailles!’ and he was _not_ happy about that . . .”

I look up at him, and try not to notice how my heart does a little skip. He’s grinning at me through his chatter, gesticulating wildly with his free hand, while the other remains comforting and warm and _there_ in mine. 

You’d think after all the times I’ve come close to losing him, it would get easier. You’d think that when he disappeared from behind me as we walked from the TARDIS, that my heart wouldn’t thunder so loud I couldn’t hear myself think, that my mind wouldn’t be whizzing so fast that nothing makes sense, that I’d be able to think of anything other than that _he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone_. 

Well, you’d be wrong.

“ . . . and then _I_ said ‘Look, mate, I don’t care if you’re the ruler of the entire Roman Empire, that’s _my_ javelin!’ and then he started yelling for his soldiers, making a right fuss, so I legged it quick sticks . . .”

These are my favourite times. When we’ve finished saving the world again and we’re walking hand in hand and I’m just listening to the sound of his voice.

It’s a very nice voice, after all.

“ . . . so I tried sonic-ing the cell door, but then I remembered it doesn’t do wood, and _then_ I realised I could that lock-picker that Houdini gave me . . .”

We’re not far from the TARDIS now, nearing the outskirts of the park. I wonder where the Doctor will take us next. I really should go back to visit Mum soon, but maybe we’ll take a quick detour. I’m sure he said something about Shakespeare at some point, but maybe - 

There’s something up ahead. Something I don’t recognise, which is weird because I know Hyde Park like the back of my hand. Or at least the Hyde Park of 2006. . .

It looks like some kind of monument to me. Spotlights shine on it, illuminating black marble engraved with silver writing. It’s really tall, at least fifteen foot or something. There are flowers, too, a lot of flowers, considering it doesn’t look that new. Something awful must have happened since I last came to London.

I glance up at the Doctor, but he’s still in full swing of his story. I give him a smile and a nod and a “Right,” to keep him happy. Not that he needs it . . . 

We’re close enough now that I can read the writing that covers the monument. At the base there is a silver plaque with words engraved on it, words that make no sense to me:

_“The Battle of Canary Wharf.  
For all those lost on 23.03.06.  
Taken from us then. Remembered forever.”_

It’s then that I realise that the writing covering the monument itself is names. Just hundreds of them, covering every inch of the memorial. So many people . . . dead. All of them, lost in this battle. That must have been quite something.

We’re passing by now, but I can’t get over how many names there are, how many people were killed. My eyes sting as they roam around the monument;

_Rachel Archer . . . Thomas Mason . . . Daniel Weller . . . Adeola Oshodi . . . Janie Grant . . ._

What a tragedy. I mean, all these people had families and jobs and – 

My stomach gives a great lurch and I stop walking suddenly.

Oh, no. 

“Rose? You alright?” the Doctor says but he sounds weirdly far away from me. 

I can’t tear my eyes away from the monument, from a particular name that has my heart thudding like crazy. A name I know extremely well. 

_Rose Tyler._


	2. Chapter 2

**Previously . . .**

I can’t tear my eyes away from the monument, from a particular name that has my heart thudding like crazy. A name I know extremely well. 

_Rose Tyler._

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I feel the Doctor shake my shoulder, anxiously. I glance up at him to see him looking back and forth between me and the monument and I realise after a split second that he hasn’t seen what I’m seeing, that he hasn’t see that name.

And I’m relieved. I mean _really_ relieved. 

Because I’m looking up at the Doctor’s worried face and I know that he loves me. OK, so _maybe_ not in the way that I would like him to, but I can see something behind his eyes when we’ve come close to separation, something that makes me feel so safe and happy and warm and I know, I just _know_ that he doesn’t want to lose me.

Okay, so it’s a risk travelling with him. I know that. He knows that. But there’s so much more to life with the Doctor than fighting aliens and risking your life. It’s about opening your eyes and seeing the majesty of the universe, racing to see every star and every planet and everything, _everything_ out there. It’s about finding that spark deep inside yourself and turning it into a supernova. It’s those “It’s bigger on the inside!” moments when you feel the thrill, the terror, the joy of finding out that something you’ve believed all your life is just a glimpse of what’s really around you. It’s just … the Doctor. That’s what it is.

Just seconds ago, that was it, that was How It’s Supposed To Be, and I don’t want it to change. I really don’t. And if one thing’s for sure then it’s that if I tell him, things will be different. 

And I’m looking at him now, at the concern in the creases between his eyebrows, at the fear in the set of his mouth and I realise that I can’t tell him what I’ve seen. I just can’t.

“Rose, what is it?” the Doctor says, putting a hand to my cheek and cupping my face. 

“I just . . .” I manage to get out. “I suddenly felt a bit faint.”

I can tell he doesn’t doubt me. I mean, why would he? I’ve never had reason to lie to him before.

He bends down a bit to my level, looking seriously into my face, and says “You do look rather green.”

I wonder why?

“I think we’d better get you back to the TARDIS,” he says, decidedly. “Come on.”

He strokes my hair then takes my hand with a firmer grip than before and leads me away from the memorial. I glance over my shoulder at the monument, standing tall and imperious over the park. 

Then I close my eyes, take a deep breathe and turn away.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I stumble in to the console room, rubbing sleep from my eye.

“Watcha,” says a pair of legs sticking out from under the console, and the Doctor slides out from underneath with a grin. Seconds later, he’s on his feet and looking at me intently. An eyebrow lifts.

“Rose, you look like death warmed up.”

“Good morning to you, too!” I say, because I know I should feel insulted.

But I don’t. Because to be honest I _feel_ like death warmed up. 

It’s been a while since I saw – 

Since we were in Hyde Park, and I’ve had about three hours’ sleep. I try, I really do, but I just lie there for hours and think about that monument and the Doctor and what it means for me, for us, and Mum and the monument and why can’t I get to sleep? and the Doctor some more. 

When I glanced at myself in the mirror this morning, I saw my face was this kind of worrying grey colour with circles under my eyes so dark, I might have been punched in the face by that Irish boxer at the Olympics. 

“Have you been sleeping?” the Doctor asks, seriously.

“Of c-c-course,” I say, trying and failing to stifle a huge yawn.

Stupid homeostasis. 

“Come here,” he says and pulls me into a hug. My eyes close and I breathe him in and I already feel better for just being here, in his arms, with my face pressed to his chest and his nose in my hair and for a few seconds, I forget to be worried and exhausted and scared.

And then I remember. He pulls back and looks me in the eyes and says, “Rose, is there anything you’re not telling me?”

_Yes. I saw a war memorial with my name on it and now I’m worried sick (no, literally) about what’s going to happen to me and to you and to my mum and I’m terrified you’re going to find out in case you realise it’s too dangerous for me to travel with you and leave me, that is unless I die first or –_

“No,” I say. “No, everything’s fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback is always appreciated.


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